


Quite A Night

by RedwoodRRoad



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 15:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11039472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedwoodRRoad/pseuds/RedwoodRRoad
Summary: AU in which the Dragonborn meets Sheogorath as well as Sam Guevenne in a random tavern.





	Quite A Night

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Renmorris for hilarious inspirations as well as beautiful suggestions for an already-ridiculous night of hi-jinks and shenanigans.

 

Alone on a day of travel, Morten found himself tiredly entering Solitude's The Winking Skeever inn. Being mostly empty for being a late afternoon, the bar did happen to have two people sitting and drinking lightly. A man in a black robe next to the well-dressed, older gentleman donning a cane. Morten hardly paid any attention to them as he sat at the bar and asked for a room for the night as well as a small glass of mead.

He only half-noticed the two men slowly turn their heads to watch him with devilish grins as he passed several Sovereigns to the innkeeper. He graciously accepted the mead and downed it _quickly_ , taking immediate satisfaction from the cool, frothy beverage.

"Hey, friend," cooed the younger man two seats away from Morten. He turned as he finished the drink and met, first, orange eyes drowning in black pools: everything about the gentleman grinned at him, and Morten suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of familiarity wash over him and jumble his brain _wonderfully_.

"Ohh! So you recognize me!" Morten blinked, knowing immediately whose presence he was in after hearing _that_ accent. "At first I wondered if you'd figure it out at all, lad!" Morten started to smile softly, happy to see the Prince in such a comfortable scenario. He kept his gaze on Sheogorath, obviously in some form of disguise to appear so naturally to Morten, feeling much warmer and more comfortable now; however, the other individual he did not recognize. His smile, as small as it was, dropped when he remembered that _this_ man was the one to first greet him. "Curious, are you?" Sheogorath beamed, leaning close to Morten and bringing a hand up from nowhere to rest on Morten's back. "He's a friend! He won't bite if you don't." Sheogorath's eyes darkened impossibly more; they flicked down across Morten's neck and the top of his chest as if _remembering_ something. Morten felt a smile return to his lips as Sheogorath's sharp eyes drag further down and back up.

"Name's Sam. Sam Guevenne," the younger man beside the Prince cuts in, jabbing a hand in front of Sheogorath as if inviting a proper greeting.

Morten frowned at the hand and then the man before reaching and shaking it. "Morten," he replied rigidly.

"Can I challenge you to a bit of fun tonight, Morten?" Sam asked.

Morten frowned harder. "Like what?"

Sam grinned, his eyes twinkling. "How about a drinking contest? I have this antique staff I'd be willing to part with if you win."

Surprised but a little intrigued, Morten bobbed his head back. He gave Sheogorath an inquisitive look before smiling softly at Sam.

"Sure," Morten agreed.

Sheogorath howled with laughter, smacking the wooden bar top with his hand. "Ohhh, this'll be good!"

Morten smiled a little wider as Sam ordered drinks and passed him one. They both threw it back, and Morten felt Sheogorath's hand drift further down his back. Morten exhaled as he brought the drink away from himself.

"A strong start!" Sam laughed, ordering another. "This _will_ be good."

Morten grinned at Sam as he picked up the next drink. Sheogorath, with unforeseen strength, pulled Morten's seat out from the bar a little and draped his legs over Morten's lap as Morten threw back the drink.

The night drew on, and soon Morten found himself evaluating the situation. Having downed several drinks, his Nord stamina kept him only tipsy. Sam, on the other hand, certainly seemed drunk but was still willing to continue. Sheogorath, however, was _all over him_. Morten had slightly noticed but never really registered that Sheogorath was slowly working his way into Morten's lap. It started with draping his legs over him, then curling one leg between his, then sitting on his knee, then finally curled up on his thighs, his legs crossed and facing Sam. Morten kept an arm behind Sheogorath partly so that he wouldn't fall but mostly to grasp the bar top so that he _himself_ wouldn't slip off the stool. Beyond even that, Sheogorath was _touching_ him: feeling his chest and his back, playing with his hair, drifting his hand between his legs—but as often as that happens, just as often does Morten remove the hand and give Sheogorath warning looks. Every time, the Prince just grins wider and takes a sip from a very ornate, shimmery goblet that was _definitely_ not from the mortal world.

"Okay, okay," Sam finally bumbled, patting Morten's back. "One more—One more, and we'll see where we are."

Morten grinned at Sam and grabbed the next drink. He tossed half of it back, finally feeling his head start to swim. Before he could finish the rest, he felt a large clump of his hair be grasped and firmly tugged. He let his head turn, and he opened his eyes just as Sheogorath kissed him hard. Instant pleasure shot through Morten; likely something heightened by the alcohol as well as whatever Sheogorath happened to be drinking. 

The Prince pulled away, and they both opened their eyes, not breaking contact even as Morten finished the drink and slammed it on the bar top. Immediately, Morten gripped Sheogorath around his back and kissed him again, pushing him into the bar. Sheogorath shifted his position to straddle Morten and lock his legs behind Morten's back as he scraped his fingers over the steel plates covering the Nord's chest. Morten held Sheogorath low on his hips and high on his thigh as the Prince hiked himself closer and dug his fingers in Morten's hair. Just as Morten's hand began to dip under Sheogorath's gentleman coat, the Prince pulled away and laughed.

"Well, dear Sam!" Sheogorath declared, "I think it's time for the next round!"

Head still swimming and now feeling hot low in his abdomen, Morten frowned up at Sheogorath. "I thought that _was_ the last one," he murmured.

"You already won the staff," Sam cut in, patting Morten on the back and grinning toothily at him, "time for the celebration round."

Morten found himself grinning at Sam as Sheogorath came back in for another kiss.

Just like that, it all faded to black.

* * *

Morten awoke slowly, a faint but stern sound hammering close to his ear. He felt like he was underwater: the voice above him being some worried bystander trying to pull him out by clammy hands while the rest of him felt like an incredible weight was situated on top of him. He groaned as he sat up—slowly—and tried to balance himself with the hopes that his head, too, would stop swimming. 

"Excuse me, I said you need to leave," the feminine voice demanded, still above him.

Groaning again, Morten opened his eyes and immediately closed them again when the brightness of the room nearly blinded him. He rubbed his eyes and tried again, squinting around before finding a woman in robes glaring at him.

"Seriously, you made a mess of this place, and you have to leave. Your friends are long gone, so that's an unfortunate choice of companionship."

Morten inhaled and looked around, utterly lost. As he finally felt ready to stand, he helped himself to his feet and checked his person: everything seemed to be in order. He thought back as much as he could, but the night was a wretched blur. The only details he could work out were stopping at the inn in Solitude, a drinking contest, and a pair of men—then the face of Sheogorath came to him, and Morten knew who was to blame for this mess.

"So with that in mind, I'm just going to have to blame you for this mess," the woman—the _priest_ —declared, crossing her arms as Morten turned to her.

Morten closed his eyed again, shaking his head lightly. "I'm sorry, what is this place?" He asked, opening his eyes and furrowing his eyebrows.

The priest tutted and tilted her head. "This is the Temple of Our Lady Dibella, and you and your friends wrecked it. I have to open it to the public in an hour; I don't know how I'm going to clean it up on my own."

Morten looked around and found, as she said, the atrium in quite a mess. "... I'm really sorry," he said softly, turning back to the priest. He swallowed, flicking his eyes. "Look, I'll help you clean up. Last night was..." He shook his head, unable to describe it.

"A night to remember, I hope."

Morten swallowed as the irony hit him like a brick. He nodded and cleaned the floor, collecting trash and broken items as well as a terribly confusing note:

" _Repair Supplies: a giant's toe, holy water, and two hagraven feathers_ "

Morten frowned at the note and turned to see the priest cleaning a different corner of the atrium. He swallowed and pocketed the note before finishing his side.

He sighed as he stood by the door, looking over his work. The priest came to him and turned to look around as well.

"I guess that's it," she stated woefully, "it's not perfect, but it'll have to do."

Morten turned to her. "What's your name?"

The priest turned to him and gave him a curious look. "Sella," she replied cautiously.

Morten swallowed and dug into his satchel. He pulled out a gracious amount of Septims and took her hands, letting the coins pour into her cupped hands.

"I'm really sorry about this, again," Morten started honestly. Sella's eyes widened with shock as she looked down at the coins. "Use this to pay for the damages."

Sella shook, her mouth agape. "I... I don't know what to say..." She met his eyes. "Thank you."

Morten swallowed and licked his lips, thinking. Furrowing his eyebrows, he started again: "Can I ask you...? Do you know where my two friends went? Do you happen to know?"

Sella brought the coins close to herself as she rolled her eyes. "That old man was all over you. He kept trying to touch you in inappropriate places." Morten blushed furiously, attempting to hide it by lowering his head and bringing up a hand to rub the back of his neck. "And that younger man kept saying something about Rorikstead, so they probably went out there. I don't know why you would _want_ to find them, they seem like terrible friends."

Morten inhaled and exhaled silently before heading for the door. He gave the door a questioning look, recognizing the design but not knowing why.

"I didn't know there was a Dibella Temple in Solitude," he mused, mostly to himself.

"Solitude?" Sella echoed, turning to Morten. He met her gaze, and she looked at him like he had lost his mind as well as his memory. "No, you're... you're in Markarth."

Morten's stomach dropped and so too did his jaw. He yanked open the door and recoiled at feeling the cold, breezy Markarth air smack into him like a wet fish. He squinted out at the morning view of the stone city. He had a lot of memory to catch up on: and a lot of footwork, apparently.

 

* * *

Morten arrived in Rorikstead by late afternoon. He wasn't quite sure where he might find Sam and Sheogorath, but he walked through the farm anyway. When got to the furthest patch of farm, he sighed and stopped. He turned around, figuring he should check the tavern. As he did, he heard someone call to him:

"Hey! Nord!" Morten stopped and turned around, dumbfounded. An older, angry man approached him quickly. "Hey, I'm talking to you, pal!" Frowning, Morten, in all his largeness, stepped back a little as this smaller, older man came right up to him. "You've got _some nerve_ coming back here after taking my Gleda!"

Morten stared at the man with wide eyes. He had no idea what the man was talking about. "I have no idea what you're talking about, sir," he said honestly. "Who... are you, exactly?"

"Ohh, so you're too messed up to remember me, huh? Well, maybe this will help: my name is Ennis, and you, your buddy, and a man I can only assume was _his_ father and _your_ weird, sexual partner—I'm telling you, that man was all over you—" Morten flicked his eyes away and pursed his lips, already well aware. "—traipsed around here, singing songs and kicking cabbage and sold my Gleda to a _Giant;_ on top of that,you also snuck away with that man who's older than I am and holed up in a hay barrel doing Gods _know_ what. And that's... well, that's just unethical."

Morten continued to stare at the man, more lost than ever. " _What?"_

Ennis tutted and put his hands on his hips. "Look, you're obviously hungover, so I'll cut you a deal: get me my Gleda back from the Giant up the hill, and I'll tell you where you and your friends said they were going. Deal?" Ennis nodded to himself as he finished, affirming the deal before Morten could even register the statement.

As Ennis walked away, Morten stood and stared, mostly at nothing, as he tried to piece together the madness set before him. "... What in Talos's name is a ' _Gleda_ '?" Morten asked himself without thinking.

"My _goat!"_ Ennis called back, hearing him. 

Morten blinked, relieved. He wasn't sure what he had expected.

Rolling with it, Morten headed up the road and found the hill Ennis mentioned. A Giant indeed lurked just beyond, and from where Morten stood he could just barely see a small goat seated near the Giant. Pulling out his bow, Morten crouched and drew an arrow. He stayed behind the rocks and waited for the Giant to stop moving before releasing the arrow, nailing the Giant between the ribs. It rounded, looking around wildly and readying the massive club, but Morten pulled another arrow, firing and driving it through the Giant's shoulder. It recoiled, grasping the wounded spot and attempting to pull the arrow out. As it did so, Morten pulled out a third arrow and drove it into the Giant's neck: a lucky shot that toppled the Giant and gave Morten enough opening to rush up to it and finish it off with his mace. Before turning to the goat, Morten suddenly remembered something. He hesitantly crouched by the Giant's indescribably large feet and pulled out a dagger. Grimacing, he sawed the big toe off one of the feet and carefully pocketed it, despite his own disgust at the morbidity. He then turned to the goat—to Gleda, he surmised—and slowly approached... her.

He gave her a suspicious look "... Are you... Gleda?" He blinked, and the goat blinked back. Relaxing and standing up straight, Morten made a face of self-recognition. Once again, he really didn't know what he expected.

Morten then carefully led Gleda down to Rorikstead and tracked down Ennis. The Redguard exhaled with obvious relief as they approached, and Gleda gleefully galloped to him. Morten watched Ennis embrace the goat with a listless gaze. 

Finally Ennis turned to Morten. "Thank you for returning my Gleda to me. Who sells a goat to a Giant, anyway?"

_Who embraces goats and lets strangers take them away?_  Morten considered cynically.

"But as I said," Ennis continued, "I asked you to bring back my Gleda, so I'll tell you about your friends. Poor choice of crowd, really." Morten stopped himself from rolling his eyes. "Anyway, the man in the robe said to meet Ysolda in Whiterun and that she would have a ring for your sweetheart." He stepped close to Morten, making the Nord flinch again. "Word of advice," he said softly, "whoever this lass is, don't lead her on. If you want to have your strange, sexual relation with a man twice your age, that's fine. I'm not gonna judge. Just don't break some girl's heart, you know?" Morten frowned with pursed lips, too many thoughts in his head and too little words to vocalize them. Seemingly satisfied, Ennis nodded to himself and patted Morten on the arm before parting and walking away with his... lovely Gleda.

Morten watched them with mute intrigue, shaking his head as he sighed and turned, starting for Whiterun.

* * *

Upon reaching Whiterun, Morten found himself exhausted. It wasn't too far from Rorikstead, but having started at Markarth on an empty stomach and hungover, Morten was just about ready to collapse. He stopped in at the Bannered Mare without thinking about where he would possibly find this "Ysolda," though if nothing else he really just hoped she wasn't a goat. 

He approached the innkeeper and asked for a room—only to be interrupted by a woman also at the bar.

"Hey, you bought that ring from me!" Morten turned to her and squinted at her. He had no memory of this woman _or_ her ring. "You don't remember me? I'm Ysolda—you bought a wedding ring from me so you could marry someone named 'Moira', but I don't know why you would. That old man seemed really attracted to you, and you seemed pretty keen on keeping him attached at your hip." Morten blushed and looked away, but this was the information he needed.

Closing his eyes, Morten slowly responded to Ysolda: "You... sold me the ring...?" He opened his eyes and narrowed them at her. "Was this... Was Moira with me?"

Ysolda thought back with her whole face. "I don't think so. Just you, the older gentleman with the cane, and the man in the black robes. Someone did mention that you were going to meet her in Witchmist Grove, but I think it was called off. Do you remember any of that?" Morten slowly shook his head, dumbfounded. Ysolda sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Well, I guess it's a good thing I ran into you here again. I want that ring back, and you're going to have to get it for me." Morten felt his jaw fall open. He was so tired; there was no way. Ysolda gave him a dangerous look. "Get that ring back for me, and I'll tell you anything else you might not remember when you were here last night."

Morten sighed and hung his head, defeated, before rising from the bar and slowly heading for the door.

* * *

Upon reaching the Grove, Morten felt a chill in the air. He hoped to all the Nine that this "Moira" was really here and that she wasn't a horrific monster waiting to kill him and take his soul—not that it wasn't already owned by various Daedric Princes, or perhaps just one Mad one.

He approached a run-down hut and crouched when he saw movement. He blinked when he noticed a Hagraven milling about, so he approached it slowly.

She saw him before he could do anything and pointed to him excitedly.

"My love!!" She exclaimed.

"Oh Gods," Morten breathed, his stomach flopping uncomfortably inside him.

The Hagraven—most likely Moira—flitted up to him and tried to come in close. Morten made a noise of displeasure as Moira grasped his arms lovingly and tried to bring her lips to his, though he shifted his head back as far as it would go, keeping eye contact in an attempt not to set her off.

"Darling, I've been waiting for you to return, to consummate our love!" Moira tittered much in the likeness of a glass tittering off a table and shattering on the floor. Mortified, Morten gently pushed Moira away.

"Uhh, I need that ring back," he started slowly, pausing as he flicked his eyes away and flicked them back, "... Moira."

"What?!" Moira replied, immediately irate, "Oh, so you can take it and give it to that hussy Esmerelda with the dark feathers instead?!" Morten blinked and shook his head, baffled. "Well, I won't let you have it, Love!!"

With that, Moira pushed roughly away from him and immediately struck him with her nails, scratching his armor. Still shocked, Morten pulled out his mace and blasted fire towards her, swiping just a few times with his mace before she fell, dead, on her own stairs. Morten sheathed his mace and stared down at her, slightly saddened by the image but no less mortified that he apparently tried to marry her. He shuddered at the idea of consummation before searching the dead Hagraven and grasping mostly feathers as well as a small, ornate ring. Morten blinked down at the feathers, remembering that they too were a part of the "Repair Supplies" list, and pocketed them as well.

* * *

"Did you find it?"

Morten sighed and waved to Ysolda as he sat at the bar again. Leaning over, he fit his hand into his satchel and pulled out the ornate ring, passing it over to Ysolda.

"Ohh, thank the Gods. I hope you've made good with that Moira woman or at least figured out where you're supposed to have the ceremony."

Morten swallowed and turned to Ysolda fully. "What?"

Ysolda blinked at Morten. "Oh, I said I was going to help you. Your friend—the younger one—said something about Morvunskar and that that's where the wedding ceremony was going to be held. That's also about when the older man pulled you into that corner over there and practically sucked the soul out of your—"

Morten closed his eyes and held his hand up and shook his head violently. "Alright, alright—"

"—your mouth; what? He just kissed you; not that that was something mortifying." Morten opened his eyes and froze. He looked to Ysolda, who gave him a very expectant look. For what hoped was the last time, he didn't know what he had expected. Ysolda sighed and put the ring away. "Well, you should probably head there soon, at any rate. I hope everything works out with whoever you're marrying."

Morten wanted to say he hoped the same, but if he did, he really would be crazy. Instead of leaving right away, he asked the innkeeper for a room—only for the innkeeper to lament that all the rooms were bought out. Sighing out of frustration, Morten turned and headed for the door, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and gearing for another long, terrible walk.

* * *

Morten snuck through the ruined fort, only half surprised to see hostile mages inhabiting the place. He took each down slowly and methodically, though by the end he threw caution to the wind and slew several unlucky mages as they attempted to protect a large, translucent orb sitting by the wall. As Morten approached it, he felt a tugging sensation in his stomach and lower abdomen. He figured it was some sort of portal and carefully, cautiously, stepped into the spherical light.

Morten felt, for an instant, his whole body tug in different directions, but when it was over, he found himself standing awkwardly in a grove, his whole body tingling. He looked around slowly, trying to figure out where he ended up, but as far as he could tell, it was indeed a Grove. Fairy lights lined the trees above him, stringing across the branches and lighting the otherwise pitch black sky.  He followed the lights with his eyes before letting his feet follow as well, and soon he rounded a corner and found a small clearing. A long dinner table sat in the middle of the clearing, and a handful of people sat there, eating and chatting and seemingly enjoying some kind of party. Morten felt indescribably lost.

"You made it!" A familiar voice rang out to him. Morten shot his gaze to where it came from, seeing Sheogorath in his usual form and, to a stunned bewilderment, surrounded by attractive men and women. The Prince grinned at him, his orange-submerged-in-black eyes twinkling as he held on his lap a man younger than Morten who donned a similar hairstyle and beard. Morten's neck prickled, and he felt jealousy spring up in the back of his throat as he watched the young man feel Sheogorath's upper chest and neck and jaw and laugh in his ear. Morten grew hot in his face, but before anything else could happen, Sheogorath's entire attitude shifted before him, and he yanked the young man off him. Never losing eye contact with Morten, Sheogorath parted from the congregation of men and women and approached Morten, _fast_. As soon as he reached him, the short Prince grabbed Morten by his collar and pulled him down for a rough kiss, making Morten sigh with relief as he brought his hands to Sheogorath's sides.

The kiss ended soon with Sheogorath pulling away and giving Morten a look that read something like, "I'm impressed." Morten returned a grin just as he heard someone approach them.

"Congratulations, friend," another familiar voice greeted him. Morten looked to find Sam Guevenne there, grinning at him as he held a glass of something that had to be alcohol. "I didn't think you would make it."

Morten blinked a few times before digging into his satchel. "I... I found the repair supplies. I was supposed to bring... I couldn't find the Holy Water, but I found—"

"Oh, the Hagraven feathers and all of that? You can throw all that out," Sam brushed aside. Morten frowned. "You see," Sam continued, but he paused, and as Sam disappeared in a purple cloud, Sheogorath gripped his arm with one hand and gripped his backside with the other. Morten glared at him as the cloud shifted, and Sheogorath grinned up at him as he removed his hand. Then suddenly, a taller figure, face painted red and horns on his head, appeared in Sam's place. "I really just needed something to encourage you to go out into the world and spread merriment."

Agape and speechless, Morten looked over the beast—obviously a Daedra of some kind—but Sheogorath had all the words and more:

"Ahh, lovely Sanguine, finally showing off your true form. As beautiful and grotesque as usual."

Morten frowned, piecing together the information around him.

"I serve to please the eye," Sanguine bowed. "And so, apparently, does our friend here."

Morten closed his eyes and shook his head. "So this... was all some elaborate prank?" He tried to clarify.

"Prank?" Sanguine scoffed, offended. "The Prince of Debauchery does not deal in simple _pranks_. No, this was an _ordeal:_  I haven't had this much fun in... over a hundred years. No one else would be more deserving of this sickening staff than you, now."

Morten opened his eyes again and squinted at the ground. Sheogorath brought a hand to Morten's upper back and rubbed soothingly into the soft part between the steel plates.

"So why... did you choose me?" Morten eventually asked, meeting Sanguine's eyes.

Sanguine shrugged and swayed a little where he stood. "My dear friend, Sheogorath, said you'd be good for this. He says you're _very_ amusing: you apparently have _all the moves_." Sanguine raised an eyebrow and dragged his eyes down Morten's front in such a way that made Morten flush and feel more than slightly uncomfortable. The eyes lingered somewhere, but Sheogorath stuffed an arm between Morten's arm and his torso, gripping him around the bicep and sending silent signals to Sanguine.

Recognizing the tone in the stare, Sanguine's eyes met Sheogorath's more serious gaze before clearing his throat and meeting Morten's eyes finally. "Anyway, you deserve to have this." He pulled from nowhere a staff, the body a long, thin branch, curved and smooth in some places, and the head a delicate-looking rose. "May it help you spread more joy and debauchery wherever you go."

Morten hesitated before taking it. He looked over it for a long moment, enthralled by its simplistic beauty.

"Ohh, it's fun, but it's nothing like the Wabbajack!" Sheogorath exclaimed next to him. Sanguine smiled and dropped his head, shaking it as Sheogorath grabbed Morten's hand and tugged him towards the table. "Come now, Little Dragon, you deserve a meal—no, a _feast_ for all that enjoyment and embarrassment!"

"Maybe a nap," Morten mumbled as more of a hopeful and questioning suggestion as he let Sheogorath push him into a seat and sit delicately in his lap.

"Ohhh, you'll get your nap, no worries—right after we finish what we started in all those inns and towns," Sheogorath promised, drawing his hands through Morten's hair and grinning into a kiss. Grateful euphoria washed over Morten as he closed his eyes and placed his hand low on Sheogorath's back. The Prince dropped one of his own hands to guide Morten's non-free hand to sit the staff against the table before grasping it and drawing it to the back of his head. Morten hummed and tangled his fingers into the wavy grey locks. Sheogorath parted from his lips and began kissing feverishly down Morten's neck. Swallowing, Morten kept his eyes closed and let the Prince shower him and congratulate him in ways of which Morten humbly, but happily, approved.

 


End file.
